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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24625957">Time itself is neutral</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/pebbles1971/pseuds/pebbles1971'>pebbles1971</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Stargate Atlantis</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Black history, M/M, Racism</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-06-09</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-06-09</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 11:08:42</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,881</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24625957</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/pebbles1971/pseuds/pebbles1971</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Teyla looked up at Rodney and John as they took their usual seats, with an expression as if she didn’t know them at all.</p><p>‘I have been learning how black people came to your country.’</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Rodney McKay/John Sheppard</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>47</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Time itself is neutral</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Content note: discusses slavery, racism and racist violence, police brutality</p><p>So, jdskeletion and I were chatting about how John and Rodney would view the current tensions in the US, in the context of our own efforts to grow around these issues. This short fic was inspired by that conversation, although it's set just post-series, back in 2009. Thanks to jdskeletion  for the idea and for very kindly giving it a read-through before posting - all mistakes and any cluelessness are, however, all mine.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p><p>‘Hey Teyla, what’s up?’</p><p>She was staring out over the balcony, looking sadder than Rodney had seen her in a long time. Rodney still couldn’t get used to the view of the Golden Gate Bridge, and hopefully he wouldn’t have to. There was such a political fight over the presence of Atlantis on Earth, that it was pretty much a sure thing they would slip quietly back to the Pegasus galaxy sooner rather than later.</p><p>Teyla looked up at Rodney and John as they took their usual seats, with an expression as if she didn’t know them at all.</p><p>‘I have been learning how black people came to your country.’</p><p>Rodney wasn’t good with facial expressions but even he couldn’t fail to see the look was accusatory. He <em>almost</em> reflexively said “not my country,” but that was hardly relevant to the point at hand. It wasn’t like slavery hadn’t happened in Canada.</p><p>‘That was a long time ago, Teyla.’ John said in his lazy drawl, and Rodney was all of a sudden seeing John in a way he never had before, and his stomach started to lurch. The gorgeous, affable Colonel (now full bird thanks to his heroic saving of the planet) was, Rodney sometimes forgot, the spoiled offspring of Southern money. <em>Shit</em>. How was this conversation going to go?</p><p>‘We have a black president now,’ John stated, as if that was somehow relevant.</p><p><em>Fuck.</em> It was going to go badly. Rodney was still ridiculously, unrequitedly smitten with Colonel Perfect, but even he could see that was a conversational dick move. With a sinking heart, he mentally rolled up his sleeves for the inevitable conversation one has to have with slightly racist white friends.</p><p>But Teyla was way ahead of him.</p><p>‘Barack Obama is not, in fact, a descendant of those who were enslaved, I believe,’ she said firmly, ‘so I fail to see how his being president speaks to how they and their descendants have been treated. Or do you mean to draw comparison because they are the same <em>colour</em> as him?’</p><p>The way Teyla said <em>colour</em> with such disdain was priceless. There was so much ethnic mixing in Pegasus that skin colour just wasn’t a thing out there, and Teyla had never understood how it could be. Nor had Rodney – his autistic brain found it hard to wrap itself around racism, even though he knew he wasn’t immune to it.</p><p>‘Look, Teyla, I’m not saying . . .’ John struggled for words at the best of times, but Teyla had him on the ropes. ‘I mean . . . look, I know we have a dark past, but I’m just saying things are better now.’</p><p>This probably wasn’t the moment to point out to John that his use of the word “dark” to mean “bad” wasn’t helping any.</p><p>Teyla looked at him – at both of them – with eyes like skewers.</p><p>‘So, have reparations been made for this atrocity?’ she asked icily. ‘Because it is my understanding that the slaves were not recompensed for what they went through. That after experiencing torture, murder, rape, and brutality they were released into a system where many of them were forced back into indentured servitude because society was stacked against them in multiple ways. That they then had to endure segregation, lynching and ongoing injustices like being prevented from voting.’</p><p>‘Yes, but that was . . .’ John tried to interject.</p><p>Teyla held up her hand.</p><p>‘And I have been looking into this, and I have found that over and over again the descendants of slaves are still treated grossly unfairly. That there are still ways even now barring social advancement, preventing them from voting, manufacturing social problems specifically to oppress and incarcerate them, confining them to prisons and poor neighbourhoods, removing opportunities, ensuring they are still there for the use of white people and are not held equal. I read how a man called Nixon manufactured a war on drugs just to criminalise black people and how over and over the police treat them brutally.’</p><p>‘Oh, I’m sure . . .’ John tried again, but Teyla wasn’t letting up.</p><p>‘On New Year’s Day, just before we landed here, Oscar Grant, an unarmed man, was shot in the back by police whilst lying on the ground, just across the bay from where we are now. Apparently, this kind of murder and violence by police is a common occurrence. And when people rioted in anger, white people cared more that an old theatre got damaged than that a man was dead. Injustice has been heaped on injustice until it is surely more than anyone can bear. The debt has not been repaid, it is spiraling greater and greater.’</p><p>John looked like he wanted to argue but didn’t dare. There was something schoolboyish in his face that <em>really</em> irked Rodney.</p><p>‘And what is worse than this is that the owners of slaves were <em>compensated</em>’ – Teyla couldn’t put more disgust into that word if she tried – ‘when the slaves were freed – they were given <em>money</em> because they were no longer allowed to own human beings and overwork them, rape them and kill them as they pleased.’</p><p>Okay, Rodney wasn’t sure he’d ever seen Teyla this angry. And he’d seen her face down a wraith on more than one occasion.</p><p>‘So much money,’ she continued, ‘that some governments have not yet stopped paying the debt. They made reparations to the <em>slaveowners</em> and not to the slaves. While the descendants of slaves are still bearing the burden in so many different ways, including in their taxes, there are people walking around who are even now benefitting from this holocaust!’</p><p>Sheppard’s pointy ears had gone the brightest red Rodney had ever seen. <em>Uh-oh.</em></p><p>Teyla went silent as she noticed John’s distress. She had it all figured in a nanosecond.</p><p>‘I do not know who you are,’ she said, tears rising in her eyes even as her voice retained its calm. ‘Either of you,’ she said, glancing at Rodney to make sure he understood he was not off the hook in this. ‘I do not know how, in all the time we have known each other, that such a huge thing was never talked about. I do not understand how you are not working every day to mend this injustice when I thought you were good men!’</p><p>She rose, as dignified as she could, and strode out of the room. Rodney could see her shoulders heaving, and he could feel his own emotions struggling not to burst out.</p><p>Sheppard sat back lazily in his chair, not letting a chink in his armour show.</p><p>‘Well, that was a bit of an overreaction, wasn’t it?’</p><p>And that was when Rodney punched him.</p><p> </p><p>***<br/>
<br/>
It was Jennifer that visited Rodney in the brig first, but only to break up with him. Rodney was still in too much of a meltdown to really hear what she was saying.</p><p><em>You seemed like the kind of guy I could take home to Chippewa falls </em>. . . <em>I could overlook the bi thing</em> . . . <em>crush on the Colonel . . . could’ve broken his jaw . . . hate drama, Rodney . . . </em></p><p>It didn’t really matter seeing as Rodney had just thrown away his career. What was worse was the shame he felt. Teyla had been so dignified in her intervention but Rodney? Rodney had fucked up the entire argument with his fist. He could blame his autism – yes, he’d had a meltdown, but it’s never as simple as that, is it? He’d also felt justified in hitting Sheppard, and it was beginning to sneak up on him that it was his way of dealing with the fact that Teyla was rightly chastising <em>both</em> of them.</p><p>The person he was really angry with was himself. Because he’d be raised by Canadian progressives, not American old money, but he’d still had to be sent for sensitivity training by Woolsey when he got caught calling Ronon “Conan”. He still did stupid, bullshit, racist things and he still didn’t do enough to address these enormous wrongs in his world. He’d wanted John to be the <em>opposite</em> of him but really John was a reflection of him. If Rodney’s parents had money from slavery, would he be any different?</p><p>He felt terrible, and then he felt terrible for feeling terrible when really his life was ridiculously privileged and he was feeling bad because he benefitted from a system that totally fucked over black people. Feeling bad about it was no fucking use to anyone.</p><p>Well, once he got out of jail he could devote himself to doing some good in the world. Maybe he could use being taken down a peg or two.</p><p>Rodney McKay was about to have the biggest lesson in humility of his life.</p><p>He would <em>not </em>let himself cry and feel sorry for himself. He would not.</p><p>
  
</p><p>Sometime after the fifth hour had elapsed, Lorne turned up and sprung him.</p><p>‘Apparently we all didn’t see what we thought we saw,’ he said with a smirk. ‘Apparently the Colonel fell, and you reached out to help him. You might want to swing by Woolsey’s office for a debrief of the incident, though.’</p><p> </p><p>*** </p><p>It took Rodney three weeks to go and speak to Teyla.</p><p>‘I’m sorry,’ he said, hanging his head. ‘For everything. For not doing more, for not knowing how to talk about it, to John or anyone else. For having rested on the very flimsy laurels that I wasn’t as racist as my Uncle Angus. For making things worse with Sheppard instead of making him see.’</p><p>‘John and I talked, Rodney,’ Teyla said. Her usual serenity had a steely edge to it that made Rodney nervous. ‘It was not easy, but we got through it. When I talked to you both, I was inviting you to look at <em>yourselves</em>. I cannot pretend I am not disappointed that you chose instead to focus on John, but I think perhaps you have other reasons for being angry with him.’</p><p>Rodney just looked at his feet and felt about one inch tall.</p><p>‘I am disappointed about that, too. That you were so caught up in your own feelings you lost sight of what was important. But I also understand – you are a man with strong feelings and sometimes they get on top of you.’</p><p>‘Teyla, I . . .’ everything Rodney wanted to say felt so empty. ‘I know sorry isn’t enough, so I’m going to work on this. I’m going to learn. I’ll read books – actual soft science books. I promise. And I’ll put what I learn into practice.’</p><p>Teyla actually laughed. ‘Well, now I know you are making a great sacrifice. Rodney McKay reading the soft sciences is unheard of!’ She came up to him, then, and pressed her forehead to his. Rodney could tell it was more concession than forgiveness, but it was something.</p><p> </p><p>***  </p><p>Rodney had managed to avoid John for four weeks, only to almost bump into him in a San Francisco bookshop. John’s eyes widened when he saw Rodney, then quickly darted away. His face still bore the faintest shadow from where Rodney had clocked him so much harder than he intended to. Rodney still could not bear to think of what he had done – an action spurred by his own shame that had only added to it.</p><p>They settled into chairs as far away from one another as possible and listened to the talk – <em>The problem with the white moderate – </em>without so much as glancing at one another. Rodney took the chance to slip out after while John bought a heap of anti-racism and black history books. Okay, so Sheppard seemed to have listened to Teyla. Teyla had a way of getting her point across – not that it should have been down to her to do that labour.</p><p>But stopping to scan the titles piled up on the desk in front of John (and see how many matched those in his own stash, bought before the talk) gave John just enough time to turn towards him. And Rodney was caught by those hazel eyes burning into him with the usual totally unreadable Sheppard gaze. He couldn’t move if he wanted to. John handed his card to the cashier but then said something or other and made a beeline for Rodney before finishing the payment.</p><p>‘Can you wait, just one second? Please, Rodney.’</p><p>Rodney remained rooted, watching the Colonel finish the transaction, bewildered. He had imagined so many scenarios for their first post-assault interaction, from a punch that wouldn’t show any bruises to a whiny protest of <em>I’m not racist.</em> The word <em>please</em> hadn’t appeared in any of them.</p><p>‘Could I – could I buy you a coffee?’ Sheppard said, all hesitant and pleading and confusing the fuck out of Rodney. Rodney only managed to nod mutely.</p><p>They repaired to the coffee shop next door, where Rodney remained mute as Sheppard ushered him to a table and bought them both the most over-the-top, heavily doctored buckets of coffee on the menu. He knew Rodney well; if there was one thing he liked more than good coffee it was good coffee with ridiculous additives.</p><p>Rodney sipped the sweet concoction John put in front of him, allowing the taste to soothe his nerves, which were shot to hell from a combination of being around this many people and being around John Sheppard.</p><p>‘I was a total dick. I’m sorry,’ John said at last.</p><p>
  <em>What?</em>
</p><p>‘You may have failed to notice, Colonel but I <em>assaulted</em> you. I’m pretty sure “sorry” is my line. And I would have . . . it just seemed inadequate.’</p><p>‘I had it coming. I . . . felt so much shame and I just deflected, like I always do. But I needed to get shaken up over this. I’ve been complacent.’</p><p>‘Well, I’m guessing your old money background makes this stuff harder to see – I don’t know what my excuse is,’ Rodney responded.</p><p>Rodney noticed a flicker of . . . something, at that. Realisation, perhaps? Like some piece of the puzzle had landed for John that he hadn’t had before. The look just created a puzzle for Rodney, though.</p><p>‘Regardless of my family – I’m a racist dickhead and I need to do better,’ John asserted. Rodney noted the <em>regardless of my family</em> and was curious. He filed that away for later.</p><p>‘Oh,’ Rodney said, ‘well, it turns out I’m a racist dickhead too, so that works out.’ He desperately wanted to say <em>does this mean we can be friends again? </em>Instead, he lapsed into an awkward silence.</p><p>‘Hey Rodney, I was wondering,’ John said, eyeing the bag of books Rodney had bought before the talk. ‘Do you want a study buddy? We could maybe help each other figure this stuff out.’</p><p>‘Really?’ Rodney very nearly choked on his way-too-frothy coffee. ‘Well, okay – yes, I’d like that, Colonel.’</p><p>He was surprised and warmed at how pleased Sheppard looked at his response.</p><p>Not long after that, John slipped off to the bathroom and Rodney quickly pulled out his phone. Two of the few things he liked about being back on Earth were access to coffee and Google. In seconds, he had his answer, and yet another wave of shame washed though him.</p><p>Fuck, he had a lot of growing to do.</p><p>‘Anything interesting?’ Sheppard asked as he returned to the table, noting Rodney still staring at his phone.</p><p>‘Exceptionally.’ Rodney said, looking up at John and feeling his face go pink. God, the man was beautiful, and there was no way he was ever going to fall for a loser like Rodney.</p><p>‘Care to share?’</p><p>‘Sure,’ Rodney conceded, knowing this was exactly the work he came out tonight to do. ‘I want to tell you about being MLK’s “white moderate”. I want to tell you about a guy who was so desperate to minimise his own racism that he made up a story in his head about his best friend being the descendent of slave-owners, when in fact, as Google has just instructed me, his father was the son of a baker and a seamstress.’</p><p>John snorted. ‘Grandpa was more of a gambler than a baker. My dad spent a lot of his childhood hiding from debt collectors, that’s why he loves money so much.’</p><p>‘John, I’m sorry.’ Rodney said, dragging the residual foam around his cup with a spoon.</p><p>John just looked at him and smiled. ‘You’re calling me John again. That’s good. But I still think I deserved the sore jaw. Seems like the least I could suffer for what Teyla laid on us that day. And if you’re suffering for having done it, well, that works out too. But maybe, going forward, we could find a more productive penance? Something that would actually help make things better?’</p><p>‘I have no idea what that would be, but yeah, that sounds good,’ Rodney let out a breath that took with it a bucketload of tension.</p><p>‘S’why we’ve got all these books, Rodney.’ John grinned.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Two months later</em>
</p><p>‘Wow,’ said Jeannie, taking in the couple in front of her, who looked relaxed and more than a little soft around the edges in the San Franciscan sunshine. ‘As getting-together stories go, that was intense. So, what have you learned so far in your study sessions?’</p><p>‘To listen,’ John said solemnly as he played with Rodney’s hand under the table.</p><p>‘And then to listen some more,’ agreed Rodney, squeezing the hand back.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>The title for the talk the boys went to is inspired by MLK’s letter from a Birmingham Jail, and the fic title is a direct quote from it. It's one of those bits of writing every white person of good conscience should probably read: https://www.africa.upenn.edu/Articles_Gen/Letter_Birmingham.html</p></blockquote></div></div>
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